


Hell No, I Ain't Happy

by romanticalgirl



Series: behind the song [11]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Drive By Trucker's song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell No, I Ain't Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 6-12-08

Touring is a little like home and a lot like hell, and it’s been going on long enough that none of them are sure how to tell the difference. Every highway seems haunted, semis doing the long haul, wheels screaming like ghouls as they rush to somewhere else. There’s a hell of a lot of them in the bus, all too close together and crowded in ways that make them sweat, too many smells and too much skin and not enough air between them and thousands of miles to go before they’re anywhere near done.

There are wives and girlfriends back in that place that they have an address that isn’t on four wheels, but no one remembers that when there’s something sweet on the menu, breasts and asses that promise things that they’ve all but forgotten about, curves that don’t belong to a guitar that need just as much stroking as the strings. They’re all tired of biting their fists or pillows while jerking off, trying to be quiet because it’s already hard enough without a reminder. The hotel rooms are crappier than the bus, but sometimes you need a bed, and half the time she’s paying for a chance to fuck a star or whatever she can find that shines brighter than the secondhand cubic zirconium in the ring her boyfriend hasn’t hocked yet because the rent hasn’t come due.

It can’t last forever, at least that’s what they say, but forever’s subjective compared to how many cities you’re down and how many there are left to go. Stop counting after a while because the numbers stop making sense, so you just face the audience and play the songs until the music is beating in the blood loud enough to make everything else fade away. The faces fade from one to another, and the name of the town never matters. Say good night, Kansas City and hello, Cleveland and you’re right half the time, and they’re drunk half the time so it doesn’t matter at all. The road keeps winding and it’s got to end somewhere. You just hope you finish the tour before it finishes you.


End file.
